


This is Home

by fyredancer



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:37:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyredancer/pseuds/fyredancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I've got my memories</i><br/>Always<br/>Inside of me<br/>But I can't go back<br/>Back to how it was<br/>I believe you now<br/>I've come too far<br/>No I can't go back<br/>Back to how it was
</p>
<p>Bill has someplace where he always belongs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Home

When Bill returns from L.A., he's beaming, warmed by more than the happy rush of seeing his twin again and the dogs that are so ecstatic to swarm around his legs.

"I found the perfect place," Bill says, all smiles. "It's in our price range, it has everything we want. Do you want to see the internet listing?"

"Don't need to," Tom replies, reeling him toward the living room with a steadfast grip. He deposits himself onto the couch and Bill lets himself be drawn, kicking off his heels with a sigh and relaxing into the crook of his twin's arm.

"Why not?" Bill says, second-guessing himself, worried Tom's going to fight the move, demand a trip for himself, tell him he's changed his mind. _I can't let go of Germany,_ Tom might say, or _It's too soon to go to L.A._ "This is our new home, Tom, I want you to be as happy with it as I am--"

"Wherever you are is home," Tom says simply, and that and the tension in his eyes shuts Bill up for all of thirty seconds of contented contemplation.

"Welcome home," Bill murmurs, and leans in to press their foreheads together.

* * *

_"You can't," the teacher says blankly, transferring her confused gaze back and forth between the twins._

_"I'm staying together with Tom," Bill insists, clinging to his twin's arm._

_The teacher shakes her head at them, hands going to her ample hips. "You're brothers. Didn't your parents have brothers and sisters? You don't grow up and stay with your brother; you get married, have kids..."_

_"We're twins," Bill says, stubborn about it. It is, he is sure, some super-category of sibling. It's much more permanent than a brother or sister could ever be._

_"The assignment is to divide up into pairs and role-play what you want to be when you grow up," the teacher says, taking on the huffy air of one who explained to her satisfaction and is tired of trying to rephrase._

_"And we've already done it," Bill says, knotting his brow as he stares up at her in equal incomprehension. "Tom and I will be rock stars and we'll live together in a mansion."_

_"Tom?" the teacher appeals, trying the other twin for a flicker of reason._

_"And we'll have lots of dogs," Tom adds, looping his arm through Bill's._

_The teacher gives up and sends them to the office._

* * *

Bill goes to Paris, while Tom stays home and packs for the move.

He feels bad about it, but Tom asked to stay home - he says there'll be no pics of him glazing over at the event, and he wants quality time with their dogs before the next tour.

"You don't want quality time with me," Bill ventures, pushing his lip out in the beginnings of a pout.

"All the time I spend with you is quality," Tom replies, skewing his mouth and shooting a 'nice try' look at Bill.

Bill laughs and promises recklessly, "We'll do whatever you want to celebrate when we get to the new house."

Tom's eyes glint and Bill has to remind him, again, that Viagra is not a party drug and chafing is not sexy.

"Try not to buy too much in Paris," Tom reminds him. "We're shipping all of your crap halfway around the world, and don't need to add more before we move."

Bill arches a brow. "Do you really need twenty-three guitars, Tom?" he asks sweetly. "Or shoes, what about four--"

Tom claps a hand over his mouth before Bill can finish the number.

Bill licks his palm and they devolve into a tussle that has a spectacularly satisfying denouement.

* * *

_"That's gross," Tom says, but his bugged-out eyes are fixed on the screen as the man delves his tongue between the woman's lips with long, wet-looking strokes._

_Strings of saliva pass between the couple as they watch. Bill makes a face. "Disgusting," he agrees out of solidarity. His belly squirms with unease, the thrill of doing something naughty while their parents are out, but also curiosity. "Why would anyone do that?"_

_"Must feel good, I guess," Tom says absently, so rapt by the television that Bill is beginning to feel ignored._

_"What's so good about it?" Bill huffs, scooting closer to Tom so their knees touch._

_"Dunno," Tom says. "Never kissed anyone."_

_Bill's stomach cramps when he thinks about Tom kissing someone that way. "You've kissed me," he says weakly, already knowing his objection is silly._

_Tom scoffs. "Not like that." He points at the screen, at the close-up of mouths with tongue slipping between them._

_Bill is quiet, absorbing this. "Want to try it?"_

_Tom turns huge, glittering eyes on him. Bill shrinks back into the cushion._

_"You want me to lick you?" Tom questions. "In your mouth?"_

_Burning, Bill nods._

_"Come here," Tom says, and gets a lapful of Bill._

* * *

They wander from room to room of their enormous, as yet undecorated house and Tom whispers promises against his neck as they pause to admire each room. The windows are high and wide but the fencing around them is even higher, thick screens of palm and yucca and bushy plants that Bill can't put a name to. No one knows where they live yet except their closest inner circle. As the dogs sniff every corner, eagerly acquainting themselves with their new domain, Bill leads Tom by the hand and they explore.

"This is where I'll do you first," Tom says.

"The first room of the house?" Bill responds, pretending shock. "Scandalous."

"We've got a couch, may as well use it," Tom replies with his most impish grin.

"Dining room," Bill says, acting the tour guide as they pass through.

"Where you'll blow me," Tom returns. "Under the table. When it gets here."

Bill makes a disparaging noise but he's already kind of excited over the prospect.

"Bathroom..."

"Nice sturdy counter in there, right?" Tom quips.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Bill says, all innocence.

"Don't worry," Tom tells him. "I'll take care of it."

"Mm-hmm," Bill hums, looking forward to it. So far, Tom's new house celebration plans seem to involve doing Bill in every room, which is a happy callback to the christening of their previous place three years ago. "And the bedroom..."

"Thank goodness there's a bed," Tom says dryly. The process of having their belongings shipped from one continent to another has been rather more stressful than either of them expected.

"And what's the bed for?" Bill wonders, giving Tom big eyes.

Tom leans in, his hand warm on Bill's shoulder. "Lovemaking," he whispers into the shell of Bill's ear.

* * *

_"You'll have to learn to let Tom go someday," Simone says, unzipping his suitcase and beginning to sort clothes into two hampers._

_"What makes you think it's not his idea?" Bill returns, folding his arms over his chest._

_Simone pauses from dealing with the laundry and gives him a patient look. "You know how girl-crazy your brother is...I figure he'll want his own place to, well, entertain."_

_Bill knows and it drives him mad sometimes; makes him do things he might not otherwise, like going down his knees before Tom in concert. "We're growing up but not apart," he argues. This is one area he still treads carefully. Their mother is more perceptive than any label executive or member of their management team._

_"No, I daresay you've both done enough growing up, each of you," Simone replies with a sigh._

_"We're old enough to get our own place," Bill presses. "We hardly live at home, as it is."_

_Simone bends a wry look on him. "And yet neither of you has the faintest idea how to work a washing machine."_

_Bill shrugs uncomfortably. "We can get someone to do that..." In reality he knows they'll likely keep bringing it here, on the pretext of 'visiting.'_

_"No," Simone says, all finality. "You're not old enough yet. I agreed to let you tour, and be under David's and Benjamin's supervision when you record, but you're not eighteen yet, Bill. I don't care how much money you have or how famous you are. You'll have to put off buying a house until you're of age. And by then..."_

_Bill turns swiftly, his gaze hardening. His mother devotes her attention to the laundry._

_He knows what remains unsaid. 'By then, you may have changed your mind; Tom may be dating again. You might be.'_

_It's useless to tell her any differently. Things have changed between Tom and Bill for good, but the world can never know._

_Tom is flipping through channels when Bill flops down beside him on the couch. He doesn't even have to look over to know the argument was lost. "Told you so."_

_"Yeah," Bill says, sour. "You're always right."_

_Tom reaches over and grips Bill's wrist, his thumb sweeping over a tracery of blue veins. "And I told you already, the only place I belong is with you."_

_Bill's happiness lights up his whole face, he's sure. "Want to go mess around," he offers, adding quickly when Tom's eyes widen, "with the new melody we worked on the other night?"_

_Tom turns off the television and offers a hand to Bill. "Always."_

* * *

They've got a kitchen with no flatware, two bathrooms with no shower curtains, a guitar room with no racks, row upon row of shoes with no socks, and a big bed with no sheets. Bill is utterly content without any of that as he lays back in Tom's arms and basks in the splendor of their first sunset in L.A. With no commitments, the weekend is theirs to tend house and enjoy this free time together before they attack the U.S. market in earnest. They've had their ups, their downs, their fights, their largely wordless make-up scenes.

Today, they're together, and both where they belong.

"Do you miss Germany?" Bill asks, caressing Tom's side to prompt him. This is the two of them at their most basic, the touches they can never allow in the public eye, no matter how innocent.

"Oh yeah, I miss it already," Tom says, rolling his eyes. "You want to go have a smoke on the patio?"

"Maybe later," Bill says, reflective. There was no question that they'd had to move somewhere, anywhere, after someone had broken into their house, wandered through their rooms, touched their things. It made Bill's skin crawl to think of it.

There's a long moment of silence while Bill pushes his toes against Tom's bare ones, testing the way they tense up and resist his onslaught. His stomach stirs in the shift from passion to another kind of hunger, and he tries to remember how to order food delivery here. They have no dishes and they'll have to eat out of the cartons but he doesn't care.

"I miss what we had," Tom says, after a while. "We can never get it back, though. It always keeps changing."

"Always will," Bill says. He digs a thumb into Tom's hip as though testing for body fat – there is none – and catches at Tom's hand when he moves to slap Bill away. He compares their hands, so similar, sinew and skin and the shape of the underlying bones. "You think our best is behind us?"

"No," Tom replies, with no hesitance. "No way. It's too early to say that."

"What if it is," Bill presses, as he always must. He explores the boundaries of what's possible and what's not.

"We'll always be who we are," Tom says, pragmatic about it. "Isn't that enough?"

Bill thinks about it. He knows it should be. He always needs the next goal, though; the next barrier to knock down, the next thing someone deemed impossible that he finds now within his grasp. "I want to keep going," he says.

Tom rubs his shoulder, soothing. "I know you do," he says. "So we will, for as long – as far – as you want to take it."

Bill toys with one of Tom's braids that overlaps his chest. "I want you to want it, too," he says softly, knowing he's pressing his luck.

"Wherever you are, that's where I am," Tom replies. "No matter how different we are, no matter how far. It's how we're built."

"Because you're my home," Bill says, and nestles in the curve of the arm around him, the only place he fits just so.

"The only one that can never leave you," Tom returns. He pulls Bill onto his chest; cups a hand to the back of Bill's neck to bring their lips together. "Welcome home."

+end+


End file.
